


Down, But Never Out

by Ralkana



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Reality, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-16
Updated: 2008-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The simple moments after victory make the battle worth every ounce of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down, But Never Out

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer -- _Bones_ is owned by Josephson Entertainment and Far Field Productions, in association with 20th Century Fox Television, based on the novels by Kathy Reichs. I own none of it, but if someone wants to give me Agent Booth for Christmas, I think I could be persuaded. Nor do I own the Philadelphia Flyers, the Pittsburgh Penguins, the NHL, the Stanley Cup, or Versus.
> 
> Timeline -- Takes place in an alternate reality, several days after _The Wannabe in the Weeds_. I was Jossed by _The Pain in the Heart_ , but I don't care. I like this reality better.

"I cannot believe you signed yourself out of the hospital for a hockey game," Temperance Brennan said as she unlocked his door and preceded him inside.

Seeley Booth, drawn and pale, tried not to wince as he slowly made his way through the door. "You said that already. Like five times, Bones."

"Well, it's ridiculous!" She set his bag on the floor and closed the door behind them.

He grunted as he lowered himself onto the sofa. "The hospital doesn't have Versus." When she looked confused, he sighed. "It's a cable channel. The hospital doesn't have it, and I am not missing this game."

"Booth -- "

"I was going to lie in bed and do nothing if I stayed there, right? So what difference does it make if I kick back on my couch and watch the game with my son instead?"

"There are nurses down the hall at the hospital."

He glanced at her without lifting his head from the back of the couch. "I'm fine, Bones."

She stared at him, disbelief on her face. "You have a bullet wound in your shoulder, damage to several muscles in your upper body, three broken ribs, and you lost thirty percent of your total blood volume. You have an unusual definition of fine."

There was a knock on the door, and she turned toward it, missing Booth's rolled eyes and whispered, "Thank you, God."

Brennan opened the door, quickly stepping back as a small blonde blur raced into the room.

"Daddy!"

"Be careful, Parker!" Rebecca warned loudly, and Parker pulled up just short of jumping onto the couch next to his father. "Remember, Daddy's still hurt."

The boy looked contrite. "Sorry, Daddy. Does it hurt a lot?"

The women exchanged glances as Booth tried to shrug and bit back a groan at the movement. "Not a lot, bub. I'm fine. Let me see how that jersey looks on you."

Parker spread his arms so his dad could see the striking patterns of orange, black, and white, and the familiar logo. "Isn't it cool? Thank you so much, Daddy!"

"Very cool. And you're welcome. Why don't you climb up here and sit with me and we'll watch the game."

"Are you sure, Seeley? I don't want him to tire you out -- "

"I missed the last one," he told Rebecca. "I'm not missing this one."

There was silence in the room for a moment as the adults contemplated just how close he'd come to missing not only this game, but every game after.

"Can we order a pizza, Daddy?"

"Sure, kiddo. Wanna go get the phone for me?"

"'Kay!" Parker jumped off the couch and dashed into the kitchen.

"You girls gonna stay and watch the game with us?"

Rebecca shook her head. "You know hockey's not my thing. Do you want me to pick him up tonight, or tomorrow morning before school?"

Booth blinked, surprised at being given an option. "Tomorrow morning would be great. I mean, if you don't mind. The game might run late, but if it runs too late, I'll make sure he -- "

"It's fine, Seeley," she interrupted gently. "I'll see you tomorrow. You'll be okay getting him to bed?"

"We'll manage," he assured her with a grin.

She smiled shakily, her eyes bright. "I'm so glad you're okay," she told him, turning and hurrying into the kitchen to say good night to her son.

Bemused, he looked after her for a moment, and then he turned his gaze to Brennan. "What about you, Bones? You gonna hang with us and eat pizza and watch the game?"

She and Rebecca exchanged good-nights, and she closed and locked the door behind the other woman before turning back to Booth. "I don't know, Booth, I should go," she said reluctantly. Booth got so little time with his son, and she didn't want to intrude. She wasn't anxious to head home to an empty apartment, however, knowing she'd spend the evening staring at nothing, envisioning her partner's pale, still form lying in a pool of blood. She shivered.

Booth lifted a hand weakly, drawing her attention back to him. "Stay, Bones," he urged, smiling at his son as he came bounding back into the room carrying the cordless phone. "We want you to watch the game with us, don't we, Parker?"

The boy nodded eagerly as he handed his father the phone and climbed back onto the couch. "Yeah, Bones, stay! Please?"

Brennan smiled wryly. Parker had eagerly picked up his father's nickname for her, but she found that she didn't mind, any more than she minded it when Booth used it these days. The thought that she'd come so close to never hearing it again sent another shiver racing down her spine, and she closed her eyes at the terrible thought. When she reopened them it was to see both father and son gazing at her with pleading brown eyes, and she found she just couldn't disappoint them.

"What are we getting on our pizza?" she asked, and Booth smiled. Parker, showing the natural exuberance of the Booth male, launched himself off the couch.

"Yay!" he shouted, jumping up and down. He threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly, and though she was surprised, she couldn't say it was an unpleasant experience.

"I've never watched a hockey game," she told him, giving in to the urge to tousle his blond curls, and she smiled as his eyes got huge.

"Never? Oh my gosh, Bones, it's the bestest thing ever! Come on!" He dragged her toward the couch.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

"So, Parker," she asked as they sat eating their pizza and watching the teams warm up on the ice, "I see that you're wearing the jersey of the home team. Thus, I am going to deduce that you're a fan of the Flyers."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Booth drawled from his relaxed position. A plate of pizza sat beside him, untouched, as he closely watched the action on the screen. His gaze darted from one player to another, assessing them as minutely as a suspect in the interrogation room. "You should think about maybe working with the FBI."

"Of course I'm a Flyers fan!" Parker stared at her, disgust on his face at the idea that she might think otherwise. "They're the best!"

She smiled at him. "Of course. I apologize." She watched for a few minutes, listening to the commentators as they droned on, but the jargon was so thick that they may as well have been speaking another language as they spoke of third lines and goals against averages and plus/minus. _I wonder if this is how Booth feels in the lab?_ she thought.

"Your family has ties to both Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, doesn't it?" she asked Booth, and when he nodded, she asked, "So how did you choose a team to root for in this series?"

"No choice necessary, Bones. My father was a Flyers fan," he told her. "He took me to my first game when I was about half Parker's age. I've always been a Flyers fan. And now, so is Parker."

"Daddy took me to my first game on my birthday when I was four," Parker told her proudly, sauce smeared over his chin. His jersey was folded neatly on the table beside the couch, to save it from the dangers of pizza sauce and pepperoni. "We won."

"It must have been fun," she told him, wiping his chin and absently noting his apparent inclusion in the victorous effort.

"Oh, it was so cool, and we had hot dogs and cotton candy, and there was a fight and everything!"

She laughed, and the grin he gave her was so reminiscent of his father, it was slightly eerie.

"I love hockey," he told her, in between huge bites of pizza. "I know how to play, too, but Mommy won't let me play on a team yet."

"It's a very violent sport, Parker."

Booth threw her an annoyed glare. "It's about skill and athleticism and teamwork, Bones, not violence."

"Those attributes may be a part of it, but you can't deny it's violent, Booth."

"There's not nearly as much violence at the pee-wee level."

"The effects of traumatic injuries incurred at a young age can -- "

"Bones. Not now, please. Arguing about it with his mother is more than enough aggravation for me."

"Daddy and I play," Parker told her, oblivious to the bickering going on over his head.

"Which position do you prefer to play, Parker?" she asked. Not that she could recognize the differences between the positions. The only player she recognized on the ice was the goalie, and that was due to his highly specialized equipment.

"Center." He grinned. "I like to score goals. Can we play, Daddy? This weekend? Please?"

"Not this weekend, buddy," Booth told him, regret clear in his voice. "Soon, okay?"

Parker gave a huge, disappointed sigh. "Okay."

"You know how Kimmo's out? 'Cause he's hurt? And Coburn too?" When Parker nodded, he said, "They gotta go off and get better before they can come back and play, right?"

"Yeah."

"Daddy has to do some rehab before we can play again. Just like the Flyers when they get hurt. Okay?" He lifted his son's chin with a finger to look into his sad eyes. "We'll play soon, Parker, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise. The game's gonna start in a minute, Parker. Go wash your face and hands."

The boy nodded and dashed out of the room.

"Booth, it's highly unlikely that you will be able to play hockey with him anytime soon." It seemed to her that he was in denial about the severity of his injury. Signing himself out of the hospital to watch a hockey game appeared to be clear evidence of that fact.

"I know that, Bones, okay, but he doesn't need to know that. Besides, 'soon' is relative to a six year old."

"You don't want to frighten him," she realized.

"He doesn't need to know I almost died."

The harsh words stunned them both into silence for a moment. Though they were both extremely aware of how precariously he'd hovered at the edge of death, neither had been anxious to bring up the topic.

Booth tried to take a deep breath, groaned, and brought his good hand up to rest over his ribs. "Ow. Besides, I'll be playing hockey with him sooner than you think, Bones."

The determination in his eyes and voice made her smile against her will. Booth had never let injury get the better of him, but he'd never -- since she'd known him -- been injured this badly. Nevertheless, she had no doubt that he'd complete his physical therapy and rehabilitation as quickly and aggressively as he possibly could.

The television had drawn his attention again. She listened to the commentary for a moment.

"So this is a series where the teams play multiple games against each other?"

"Yeah, it's the playoffs. After the regular season, to determine this year's champion. These are the conference finals. Third of four rounds."

"And your team has lost three games in a row?"

He winced. "Yeah."

"How many games are in the series?"

"Seven," he sighed, and her eyes widened as she swallowed her bite of pizza. He nodded wearily. "Yeah, this is our last chance here."

"Statistically -- "

"Yeah, I know -- " He tried to cut her off.

" -- it's extremely improbable that -- "

"Bones -- "

" -- your team will -- "

"Yeah!" he said loudly, finally stopping her. "Yeah, Bones, I know. But it's been done, okay? It has been done."

"How often?"

He sighed again. "Twice."

"In how many years?"

"Way too many, okay? Look, just watch the game!"

"It hasn't started yet. The commentator also said that your team has lost several key players to injuries, didn't he?"

He sighed, thudding his head down on the back of the couch, groaning as the movement pulled on his shoulder. "I know, Bones. Please. Okay?"

Parker came back into the room and pulled his jersey back over his head before settling back onto the couch.

"All right, opening face-off," Booth told his son as he struggled into a slightly more upright position, and Brennan hid a smile as their gazes narrowed identically and focused on the screen. She realized she intended to spend most of the evening watching them rather than the game, but she didn't think they'd even notice.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

She was right. She curled up in the recliner, her attention flitting back and forth between the action on the screen and the two avid watchers in the room. A smile curled her lips as she observed them.

They oohed and aahed simultaneously, frowned at the same moments, applauded at the same plays. When, nearly halfway into the first period of play, the Flyers scored a goal, they both cheered loudly. Parker jumped up and down, dancing around the coffee table, and Booth smiled at his son's antics. The smile faded into a grimace of pain as he raised his left hand to high-five his son.

Brennan frowned, concerned. Parker, too busy turning to high-five Brennan, missed his father's pain.

"We scored, Bones!" the boy said, wriggling with excitement. "Listen, it's the goal song!"

Brennan listened, and she could hear some sort of strange ululating chant among the cheers and applause in the arena.

"They play that song every time we score! Hopefully we'll hear it lots tonight!"

When Parker settled back onto the couch, bouncing happily, Brennan leaned over and quietly asked Booth if he was okay.

"I'm fine," he told her firmly, but his smile held only a fraction of its usual sparkle. "My team's ahead, Bones. I'm great!" A glance over at his ecstatic son, and his smile widened. "I'm great," he repeated softly.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

During the intermission between the first and second periods of play, Parker was beside himself. The Flyers had a three goal lead, and as far as he was concerned, the game was over. His father was more circumspect. In fact, he looked worried. When she questioned him, he offered her a half-shrug.

"Yeah, it's great," he told her, "But I've seen them drop bigger leads than this before. I'm happy, really. I'm just... cautious."

Parker had no such worries. He ran around the room, re-enacting the goals with mumbled play-by-play, throwing his hands up in the air and imitating the crowd noise. They both watched him, and Brennan smiled when Booth cheered as his son "scored". A grin and a glance at her had her cheering along at the next one, laughing helplessly as she shook her head at them both.

When the second period was underway, Parker settled back into his seat next to his father. After a few minutes, the referee blew the whistle to signal a penalty, and the boy turned to his father to ask a question about the play. Brennan watched as he explained the penalty, pointing at players and showing Parker on the replay exactly what had happened.

She smiled at the picture they made. Until now, she'd only seen them enjoying the game together, and while she appreciated the sight, she could now recognize it fitting into an anthropological construct. It might not be a lesson in survival, but Booth clearly loved and understood the game, and he was eagerly passing on his knowlege to the next generation.

Her smile faltered. Booth had raised his hands to demonstrate something to the boy, clearly forgetting the extent of his injury. He paled and dropped his arm back to his side. This time, even Parker noticed.

"Daddy, are you okay?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried.

"I'm fine, son," Booth answered, his voice tight with pain.

Brennan glanced at the clock, amazed to see how late it was. "Booth, do you want me to get you a pain pill? You're long overdue for another dose."

"I know. Believe me, I know, but I don't want one right now; it'll put me to sleep, and I'll miss the game."

"Maybe you should rest. Your health is more important. It's just a hockey game."

His only answer was a wry but weary smile, but Parker turned his astonished gaze on her. "It's not just a hockey game, Bones. It's a 'limation game!"

Confused, Brennan glanced at Booth. "Elimination game," he clarified.

"That means if they don't win, they're out. And they can't be out. If they're out, they can't win the Cup!"

Her confusion did not abate. "What cup?"

Parker glanced at his father, shaking his head at her obvious cluelessness.

"The Cup. The _Stanley_ Cup," he said. His tone clearly said that _everyone_ knew that. "It's the coolest trophy ever. It's ginormous and shiny and when you win it, they scratch your name on it and your name stays on it forever and ever. My name is gonna be on there."

Booth smiled indulgently and ruffled his son's hair. "Yeah, buddy?"

"Yeah. 'member, you took me to see it and I saw it, but I didn't touch it."

"Nope, you didn't."

"If you touch it," he told Brennan, his voice grave, "You'll never win it. You can't touch it until you lift it up over your head and skate around with it."

"Parker, that's superstition. It has no -- "

"Bones." Booth's voice was soft, but firm.

"But, Booth -- you can't honestly believe that just by touching the trophy -- "

"It's hockey lore, okay? Just... let it go."

"That's ridiculous," she sputtered, but she sighed when she met his determined gaze. "Fine." It was superstitious nonsense, but if he wanted to teach it to his son along with the rules of the game, she supposed that was his right.

"The Penguins are gonna lose so bad," Parker told them, his eyes back on the screen. "Brian's gonna owe me five bucks at school tomorrow."

Brennan glanced at Booth, whose face was carefully blank. "Parker," he asked, his tone neutral, "Did you bet on this game?"

Parker froze, a rueful expression on his little face. "Yeah. It's only five dollars."

"Five dollars is your entire allowance for the week, isn't it?" Just like that, the hockey game was forgotten as Booth focused in on his son.

"Yeah, but it's okay. They're going to win, Daddy, and then I'll have _ten_ dollars!"

"What if they don't win, Park?" Booth was insistent, his even tone of voice a demand for his son to listen to him.

"Don't say that, they're gonna win!" Now the boy glared at his father, obviously distressed by Booth's seeming betrayal of their team.

"Parker, what if the Flyers don't win? How much money will you have for the week?"

He squirmed, trying to avoid his father's serious gaze. "None."

"And isn't there a new comic book out tomorrow that you want? Didn't you ask me for it last weekend, and I said you could buy it with your allowance? How are you going to get it if they don't win?"

"You can buy it for me!" The boy smiled winningly. Problem solved.

"No, I won't. And neither will your mom, because I'll tell her not to."

"That's not fair!" Parker crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

"It's a gamble, Parker. That's what a bet is. If you win, you'll have the money for your comic book. If you lose, then you'll have to wait until next week to get your comic."

"It doesn't matter. I'm gonna win," he said, staring sullenly at the game.

"When the Flyers win, and you win your bet, you can keep your allowance, but we are going to take your winnings and put them in your college fund."

Shocked, the boy whipped his head back around to stare at his dad again. "That's not fair! It's my money!"

"Yes, and you can have it when you go to college."

"But that's not until forever!" his son whined. "Years and years and years!"

"Don't whine, Parker. You know I don't like you betting on things, and you did it anyway."

Parker's eyes filled with tears at the disappointment in his father's voice. "I'm sorry, Daddy. But he was saying all these mean things about the Flyers!"

"It's okay, bub. I just want you to think about things a little next time, okay?"

"'kay," his son sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Brennan grimaced, and Booth sighed and handed him a napkin. "Here, son, wipe your nose. And your hand. You don't want to get snot on your new jersey, do you?"

He shook his head and wiped his face, still sniffling.

"Come here, but careful, okay?" Booth urged, and Parker gently leaned into him, cuddling against him. "Watch the game with me, now. Don't cry. We're winning!" He grinned down at his son, and Parker gave him a watery smile in return.

As they refocused on the game, Brennan mulled over the conversation. She'd kept quiet, knowing Booth didn't appreciate it when she questioned his parenting. This time, though, she was impressed. Booth never talked much about the addiction he'd overcome, but she knew he occasionally wrestled with it. The idea that his son might one day struggle with the same demons must be frightening for him, but he'd handled the matter without showing that fear.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

By the time the third period started, Parker was curled against the arm of the couch, sound asleep.

"Aren't you going to wake him up?" Brennan murmured. "He's going to miss the game."

Booth was wide awake. The pain he was in pretty much guaranteed he wouldn't be sleeping for a while. "Nah. If they win, he'll be happy when he wakes up, and if the unthinkable happens, he won't have to watch it. It'd be hard enough to tell him without him having to see a collapse like that. I'm sorry, Bones. I shouldn't have asked you to stay. This is probably boring as hell for you."

"I'm not bored, Booth. I may not understand the game, but spending the evening with you and Parker has been fun. He's a great kid."

"You don't have to stay," he said, but even she could hear the reluctance in his voice. Neither one of them wanted to be much out of the other's presence, though they hadn't gotten around to discussing that particular fact yet, and she still wasn't in a hurry to get home to her empty apartment.

"I want to see who wins," she told him with a grin, and he laughed.

"We'll make a hockey fan of you yet, Bones. Aw, son of a bitch!" he added as the Penguins scored. "Dammit!" Then, remembering, he glanced down at his son, who still slept peacefully. "Well, at least he didn't hear me swear."

He grew increasingly nervous throughout the final period of the game, especially when the Penguins scored again. "Come on, guys, don't do this to me. Don't do this to me now!"

Brennan wasn't sure a close game was good for Booth's health at this point. His good arm fidgeted restlessly against his side, one foot anxiously tapped the floor, and his fingers drummed the surface of the couch.

With just about a minute left, the Penguins goalie left his net and rapidly skated towards the bench.

"What is he doing?" Brennan exclaimed. "Can he do that?"

Booth barely glanced at her, his attention riveted on the screen. "They're pulling the goalie to give them an extra attacker, so they can try and tie the game. It's risky, 'cause... come on, baby, come on... yes!" he roared as the Flyers scored a goal in the empty net. "'Cause sometimes that happens," he added, grinning at her.

His grin was infectious, and she couldn't help but laugh. "This is somewhat fun," she admitted.

"Yeah, when we're winning!" he retorted. "No, no, no!" He groaned as a furious scrum erupted on the ice. "Come on, guys, fight _after_ the game!"

"I thought fights were generally enjoyed by hockey fans." Brennan was confused, as the earlier fights in the game had certainly been cheered lustily by both father and son.

"Not this close to the end of an elimination game. If they get a power play, there's plenty of time for them to score two goals to tie it up. Come on, guys, let's just get this finished -- no, don't _do_ that!"

"You don't actually think talking to the television has an effect, do you?" she asked him curiously. When he just stared at her, she shrugged. "Well, someone who believes that touching a trophy -- "

"I'm superstitious, Bones. Not stupid. Armchair coaching is the right of any sports fan. Now please, just watch the end of the game!"

His fidgeting increased as the final seconds of the game ticked out and the roar of the crowd grew louder and louder. When the final horn blew, he cheered almost as loudly as the fans at the game. The players celebrated on the ice, hollering and hugging, and Parker slept on.

"Holy crap, they did it," he marveled. "They won! Parker!" Booth reached over and gently shook his son's shoulder. "Hey, bub, wake up."

"Hmm..." The boy lifted his head and half-opened his eyes. "Daddy?"

"We won, buddy!"

Parker beamed, still mostly asleep. "We did?"

"Yep. Game 5, Sunday."

"Can I watch it with you?"

"I wouldn't watch it without you."

"Love you, Daddy." The boy mumbled, his voice fading out as he drifted off to sleep again.

Booth gently rubbed his back. "Love you too, Park," he whispered, his smile softening.

Brennan blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that filled her eyes at the thought of her partner's beautiful little boy growing up without good-night moments like this. How could they have come so close to that nightmare?

"Hey, Bones, you all right?" Booth's voice was filled with such concern that she couldn't help but give a shaky laugh. He was the one who'd nearly died, and he was asking after her.

"I'm fine, Booth," she told him.

"'s my line." He grinned at her and then rested his head on the back of the couch. "In a minute here I'm going to have to get up and somehow get this boy into bed, and then I'm gonna take about 2400 milligrams of ibuprofen and try to crash out. Right now, I just want to savor this victory."

She frowned. "The doctor gave you something stronger than ibuprofen, Booth."

He glanced at his sleeping son. "Can't take it when I'm the only one here with him."

"Then I'll stay. I'll sleep on the couch. You need your medication and you need your rest."

"Bones -- "

"Please, Booth."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm too tired to argue with you. Thank you, Bones." He smiled as the television began playing highlights of the game they had just watched.

"You do realize, Booth, that it is still statistically improbable that your team will win this series."

He raised his head to stare at her in disbelief. "Aw, come on, Bones! Why you gotta steal my thunder like that?"

"I don't know what that means."

"It means yes, I know my team just barely staved off elimination. You don't have to rub it in!" He glared at her.

"I'm sorry, Booth, but -- "

"Yeah, yeah. You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't care about statistics. This week? This week, I believe _anything_ is possible."

**Author's Note:**

> Additional note ~ This story is based around the events of the real Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals that took place Thursday, May 15, 2008. Though I did my best to use real game events in the story, I do have to admit that I worked off box scores and game logs. I didn't watch the game because every time I either watched the Flyers on TV or listened to them on the radio throughout the 2008 playoffs, they lost the game. Sometimes horribly. Just like Booth and Parker in my story, I am deeply superstitious when it comes to sports, and I wasn't about to jinx this game for them.


End file.
